Just Sharing My Journey

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This year, when picking out plants and sowing seeds, I thought I’d better plant more perennials. Next year, I might not be as agile, I mused. The aches and pains of movement are more noticeable now.

My Neighbor:

My neighbor had a mini-stroke a few days ago. He’s at least a decade younger than me. His father and grandfather died in their fifties. He seems resigned to the same possible fate.

He’s had a tough row to hoe. The war in Afghanistan resulted in PTSD, along with the aftereffects of nerve gas. I sometimes drive him where he needs to go, because he has bouts of dizziness and other medical concerns.

I can’t imagine the unspeakable things he carries around in his head. Sometimes he tells me about it. And though I can’t see what he sees, I do see the damage wrought by his having witnessed and experienced it.

I know nothing about war. What little I know could fit into a thimble.

An ambulance came to take him to the hospital. They didn’t have the siren on, so I didn’t hear anything amiss. He said he was waiting on the porch for them. His wife was at work that evening.

His side had been going numb, he told the doctor. They’re sending him to a neurologist for further investigative testing. I hope things improve for him. He carries a profound sorrow in his head that civilians like me can’t begin to comprehend.

I wonder if it’s like trying to fight your way out of a vast spider’s web. The film clings to the skin and stretches instead of snapping. An invisible enemy that you can’t escape from.

Picking out Perennials:

This year, when picking out plants, I turned first to the nursery’s perennial section. I labored over what color Monarda flowers to buy. Those little tight-fisted blooms with spidery legs.

I chose coneflowers (again). It seems that no matter what I do, they die in the containers during the winter. But I’m trying again. Bright pink coneflowers that I hope will brighten everyone’s day as they pass by my house.

I thought of the W.C. Fields quote: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. Then quit. There’s no use being a damn fool about it.”

I guess I’m being a damn fool about it.

I chose Veronica for its spiky blooms. It’s also called Speedwell. But I like Veronica’s feminine-sounding name, which kind of flutters through the lips, better.

I chose the herbaceous Achillea, more commonly called Yarrow. I chose pots with yellow and pink blooms. These plants spread through rhizomes and will hopefully return next year.

Annuals

I turned to the petunias like I always do. They had fanciful names like “strawberry sky.” I picked dahlias with beautiful pink layers on every bloom. And purple spotted petunias that I couldn’t resist.

I love taking pictures of flowers and plants. It is always my intention to capture the woolly texture of a geranium leaf. Or the funnel-shaped petunia as it trails and cascades over the side of containers. I want you to see what I see.

Then I woke up to a windy chill a few days ago. The weather had shifted overnight, and the new plants I’d purchased were being whipped around in the wind.

Yesterday, I moved the pots of perennials and the remaining annuals I hadn’t yet planted to the porch. The weather is supposed to improve in a few days, rising out of the sixties and back into the eighties.

In a few days, I’ll get everything planted. My container garden will be full of pink, purple, yellow, and white blooms. I’ll nurture them during the summer months and enjoy their seasonal journey in my container garden.

Sitting on the porch, I’ll watch the pollinators buzzing around the plants. I read that they’re responsible for 1 out of 3 bites of human food, including fruits and vegetables. And crops like almonds and coffee.

They’ll bring my little garden to life, dusting in golden pollen as they move with purpose among the flowers I’ve planted.

My garden will become a gathering place with the hum of bees and the flicker of wings. A soft and purposeful symphony from beginning to end.